


Something Changed

by orphan_account



Category: Monk (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gay, M/M, No Smut, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-03-12 13:16:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13548114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Randy Disher had gone out to the parking lot to get his and Natalie's suitcases. He had firm grips on both suitcases and was walking back towards the building when a silver Volvo thrust forward—heading straight for its unknowing victim.Crash!By some grace of god, the suitcases acted as some sort of shield, saving Disher's life. Stottlemeyer would have to thank those suitcases, that is, if he could get Disher back to his old self again.As well as the tales that came after.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't super serious, just an idea I had. I hope to make it a complete story though. Also, slight plot divergence, to suit my own selfish wants, of course.

It was a grey morning when Lieutenant Disher attempted to walk again for the first time since the accident. The casts had been removed the day before, but he was told to stay in bed for a few days more.

He dangled his legs over the side of the bed, then threw himself forward, and fell the rest of the way down. His left leg was significantly weaker than he thought it would be. Disher hit the floor with a loud thump. 

Oh well, he could deal with it, probably.

He could try again later, the sooner he was walking, the sooner he could be helping solve cases–or, at least, watching Monk solve cases.

He slowly made his way back to the bed, which was difficult, considering his weakened right arm in addition to his useless leg. Eventually, he made it up and lay back down. While recovering, Disher had had a lot of time to think. A lot of time alone....

At first he had talked to himself, but that got boring. He already knew how he would answer himself, so what was the point in asking himself questions? And without interrogative sentences, there were only two types of sentences left: imperative and declarative. And he couldn't really entertain himself by telling himself to do things, could he? That only left declarative sentences, statements, and he couldn't possibly think of enough things to say. His thoughts were rambling, they tended to do that...

With so much time on his hands, Disher had been able to confront an issue he'd chosen to ingnore, one he'd been able to ignore. He had developed what one might call a–a crush, on his boss. He'd been able to ignore this essential issue with the fact that he had to work, the fact that he liked his work. But now–

Unfortunately, Disher, while reviewing past events, also realized that people at work found him annoying. The Captain especially.

That hurt, and he realized that the reason for this was how hard he tried. He tried too hard to impress the Captain, and often said too much.

When he was a teenager, his philosophy had been "don't expect and you won't be disappointed". He once told his father this, and his father's response was, "horseshit." Maybe it was time to use that one again. Disher thought about all of the incredibly awkward, and honestly painful, situations he'd put himself into, because he had been acting like a fool. 

There was a limit to how many times the Lieutenant could handle being told, "go stand over there" when the others were solving cases or apprehending criminals.

He had decided, with finality, that he would ignore any feelings he had for Captain Leland Stottlemeyer from hence forth.

After all, the man was married, he thought Disher was silly and unprofessional, and they were both male. Apparently that was wrong.

Disher had had many, many, many crushes throughout the years, and he had never acted on them. Only when he became aware that almost everyone he knew had someone, did he make an active effort to find someone. He soon found that most people saw relationships between two people of the same gender, wrong. That was when he decided that he wouldn't ever act on any feelings for men. 

Without realizing it, he had forced himself to ignore how he really felt to look for a girlfriend in order to conform to society, he was still unaware of this fact.

As a teenager, he thought love was stupid, and any feelings he developed for anyone eventually disappeared. These ones would too, if he waited.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________

Leland Stottlemeyer tapped his index finger against his desk impatiently. He was supposed to receive a report on a homicide case thirty minutes ago. He sighed and thumbed through case files, Lieutenant Disher would have gotten the report to him in no less that five minutes.

The office seemed a little gloomier, and a lot slower without Disher. Stottlemeyer also got bored, he'd usually play chess with Disher whenever work was slow, but that wasn't the point. 

He was ashamed to say that no one really thought they would miss the Lieutenant, and at first no one did. 

Only plausible theories presented at the crime scene and the overall amount common sense in the force went up. However, the feeling faded, fast. No one took as many notes as Disher, there was no one to do the jobs no one else wanted to do, and Stottlemeyer was slightly off put every time someone not-Randy came into his office. 

Maybe he should visit his Lieutenant, see how he's doing.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________

Stottlemeyer opened the door as Disher was making his third attempt at perambulation. 

"Randall, what in God's name are you doing?"

"Uh, walking, sir." 

"Yeah, sure," the Captain raised an eyebrow as Disher pushed himself into an upright position. "Come on," he said, helping Randy up. "We'll get you some physical therapy," he told him, "untill then, just. Stay. Put."

Disher groaned and Stottlemeyer pointed an accusatory finger at him, "don't you start that, you're the one refusing to use the wheelchair", then he pointed at the wheelchair folded up in the corner.

"It's not that I don't like the wheelchair...I just don't want to have to get pushed around."

"Your arm is practically useless! All you'd be able to do is go in circles!"

"It's embarrassing!"

Stottlemeyer massaged his forehead, "fine, have it your way-","I will" Disher interrupted. "Lieutenant I will take you to physical therapy right now, if you use the wheelchair. The you'll be able walk all over the damn town." Disher pursed his lips, Stottlemeyer frowned, "would you rather I carry you?" He sounded annoyed, he probably was.

"I'll use the wheelchair."

"Good man," Stottlemeyer said, and helping Disher stumble over to it. Then, he pushed his disabled companion out the door.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________

Stottlemeyer turned the page of the magazine he was reading and took a quick glance up. Disher was struggling to lift a five pound weight. "How ya doing?" Stottlemeyer asked, and Disher gritted his teeth under the incredible five pounds holding down his arm, "yep, I'm doing great. I'm... almost there."

A few seconds passed. "I'm...not almost there" Disher dishearteningly said and transferred the weight to his other hand where upon he threw it in the air several times and only succeeded in making himself feel worse.

Disher put the weight back in his right hand and began to try again. The captain closed his magazine, trying to find something to say, but changed his mind and opened it again.

"We got a new case recently," Stottlemeyer said, not looking up this time, "a woman was found dead in a bush behind her house. There were no signs of a struggle, and no signs of a break in on the house. However, the victim had no shoes on and there were footprints in the mud, as well as what seemed like canine paw prints. The two sets of prints almost seemed to make circles around each other." He made a circling motion with his hand. 

"Interesting," Disher said, determined to keep staring at the weight, "did you call Monk?"

"Uh, no." Stottlemeyer answered.

There was no such case, he'd made one up, the type of case that would inspire crazy and nonsensical theories on Randy's part. Now Stottlemeyer knew something was wrong.

He'd hoped for a "maybe the woman was having an affair, with a werewolf! They had been dancing in the backyard, that would explain the footprints!" Or maybe something like "she was having a duel with someone wearing dog shoes, she must've lost." But nothing.

Stottlemeyer stared at Disher for a while, and Disher, who was engrossed in his weight lifting, didn't notice. Randy's moustache had started to grow back in, he hadn't bothered shaving while inhibited. Stottlemeyer had forgotten that his Lieutenant used to have a moustache and would, if he didn't shave regularly. 

"How does lunch sound?" Leland prompted, maybe it was just his imagination (Leland Stottlemeyer has an imagination, incredible I know), but Randy seemed off. Not that the absence of some of his stranger moments was bad, it was just...off.

"Do I have to use the wheelchair?"

"Can you walk yet?"

Randy stood up and almost immediately sat back down. "I didn't think so, c'mon wheelchair time." Stottlemeyer rolled the chair over and they left, debating their lunch options.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured I might as well finish and post this part. Sorry that it doesn't solidify anything.

Stottlemeyer flicked his pen. It rolled up his desk, then back down, where he flicked it again. One aggressive flick sent it flying off the desk.

A shallow knock interrupted his pointless fiddling. Adrian Monk opened the door with his sleeve and shuffled in. "Monk, what are you doing here? We don't have any big cases right now" Stottlemeyer asked, bored.

"Oh, Captain. There's this–you see, I just came to see how things were going and I noticed that there's an entire filing cabinet–" he pointed to a grey filing cabinet. It had drawers hanging open, files sticking out at odd angles, papers stacked and stuffed in random places, and it was definitely not in alphabetical order. "This is a problem," Monk said, doing one of his weird floaty hand gestures, "imagine how much...better it would be, organized. If you could just have someone fix that, I'd really appreciate it."

Stottlemeyer rolled his eyes while looking for a new pen to flick, "Randy is in charge of that cabinet, he can fix it when he can get to work on his own."

"Is–is he close to being able to do that? Later today, maybe?"

Stottlemeyer began flicking his new pen, "he's making progress, he should be able to come back to work in the next week or so, just won't be able to go on calls."

"So that won't get fixed?"

"No, Monk, leave the cabinet alone. Actually, don't you dare touch it, because if you do, no one will be able to find anything."

"Yes you will, it'll be organized."

"Monk, if you organize the cabinet, I will personally mess it up again."

"Fine," Monk said, straightened his cuffs and walked out. Not twenty minutes later, the department door flung open and Randy Disher catapulted through it. "What the hell?" Stottlemeyer left his office and stormed over to the front door where Disher was being helped up by an officer after having slammed into a desk.

"What are you doing here? You are supposed to be at home. Did you run here?" Stottlemeyer told Randy, pointing at him. "Monk called," Randy said, huffing, "he said it was an emergency."

Stottlemeyer turned slowly and stared down Adrien Monk, "Monk, did you call the Lieutenant because of the cabinet?" He fumed.

"You said I couldn't touch it", Monk said, rolling his shoulders, and gestured to the filing cabinet, "he can fix it now."

Stottlemeyer glared at Monk. Meanwhile, Monk sat down to watch the cabinet get fixed. Stottlemeyer sighed angrily, "if you have time," he gestured open handed to the cabinet, "Monk would appreciate it." "Uh, sure" Disher said, steadying himself before making his way to the filing cabinet, shifting on his feet to make walked easier.

Monk kept watching as Disher organized the files, giving somewhat unwanted comments and instructions. Stottlemeyer wandered back to his office and watched Disher get annoyed at Monk's nitpicking through his window.

He was both relieved to see Randy back at work and perturbed by Monk's methods of organizing a filing cabinet.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________

"That one's crooked" Monk pointed out.

Disher rolled his eyes, "would you like to do it?" Monk smiled and waved a hand, "no thank you." Disher sighed.

After a few moments, Disher asked, "Monk, have there been any weird cases recently?"

"No, not that I know of."

"Huh, that's strange. The captain told me about a case a while back. I think it was about a dead woman in the bushes and dog paw prints."

Randy had successfully restrained himself and hadn't said anything ridiculous in front of Stottlemeyer when the, it seemed, story had first been told to him. However, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about his beloved, illogical theories, and the urge to talk about them got the better of him.

"Well, assume it was a real case, what do you think would have happened?"

Monk shrugged, "it sounds ridiculous, why would there be dog paw prints at a crime scene but no human footprints, unless she'd been pushed from a window."

"Oh, the captain said that there were human footprints, hers."

"That doesn't make any sense." Monk said smiling the way he does when he's trying to explain his strange little habits to normal people. In other words, when he looked down on them.

Disher kept talking anyways, "what if she was the dog? Like a shape shifter or something, and it looked like two sets of footprints because she had gone outside as a dog and then turned back into a human before she died. Maybe she was attacked by another dog." Monk proceeded to pick apart Disher's theory, explaining every reason why it was impossible.

Stottlemeyer, who had watched this transpire, felt somewhat insulted. Randy acted normal around other people, but when he was in the room, Randy became at least sixty percent less responsive.

Stottlemeyer opened the office door, "Randall, my office. Now." He called.

Disher pointed awkwardly at the filing cabinet and then Monk, but the look Stottlemeyer gave all three of them–yes, including the cabinet–made him comply.

"Sit. " Stottlemeyer instructed and Disher sat.

"What's with you?" Stottlemeyer asked, criss-crossing his fingers. "I–uh–don't know what you're talking about" Disher responded, and Stottlemeyer raised an eyebrow, a frequent habit of his. "Uh huh."

"Lieutenant, I'm going to ask you again. What has been going on? Ever since that accident you've been different, less productive."

Disher pursed his lips and looked down. For five minutes both men sat in silence. Incredibly awkward, let me tell you. "Randy, do you like this job?" Stottlemeyer asked, and Disher shrugged indecisively, "yeah–yeah I guess so." "Ok," Stottlemeyer continued, "then do us all–well, most of us– a favor and get back to your normal self."

Disher shook his head and began to stand up, "wait" Stottlemeyer said. "Look, I'm sorry," the captain told his lieutenant, "you only act like this with me, I'm not stupid. So, whatever I did, I'm sorry. "

Disher shook his head. "No, no. It's not you, I just–just have stuff I need to think about. "

Stottlemeyer gave Disher a sharp look, but it only lasted for a few moments. He got up from his desk and walked over to Randy, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Well, we'll be here when you figure it out."

Disher's face lit up with a goofy grin, unable to help himself. Why deny anything he felt? 

Liking someone felt amazing, so Disher was content to let life play out however it wished. He'd always be next to his captain, regardless of affection, so what did it matter?


End file.
